Like a dream of Josephine
You come to me
And still, my dreams are incomplete
But what still creates my wait for thee?
The stadium, the theater, and the campus all appeared in unconscious apparition.
When do I dare to ask if some coniferous tree bore the fruit of our damnation and see the end of such things?
What dreams come next?
YOU ARE READING
Love letters for Nobody
PoetryA collection of love poems written, but never sent. Still waiting for the day that someone finds them and decides they're worth reciting.
